Karen Vail 01 - Velocity (46 page)

DeSantos checked his watch. “Time to rock and rol .”

They released Turino, returned his side arms, and then headed back to the helicopter as the chief pul ed up. They handed over custody of Arturo Figueroa and told Thomson to expect a visit from Agent Jordan.

Then, with DeSantos piloting the Huey, they went skids up and disappeared into the black San Diego sky.

2300 Paseo Verde

Henderson, Nevada

H
ector DeSantos peered out the window, then made an adjustment with the cyclic and col ective controls and guided the helicopter into a gentle descent toward the Las Vegas countryside. He hovered fifty feet above his target, then slowly dropped onto the center of a grassy knol . The helipad was encircled by a decomposed granite path, bordered by wooden benches and decorative lamps.

The Green Val ey Ranch Station Casino was a resort in every sense—but it also served law enforcement as a staging area when the need arose. The helipad, composed of wel -tended and close-cropped putting green grass, sat at the far end of the complex’s recreation quad.

Upon liftoff from Clover Creek, Vail had explained the task force’s decision to Turino. Turino absorbed her comments without reply, but his face conveyed a look she was unable to read—other than that it wasn’t ful of warm fuzzies.

DeSantos powered down the Huey, then fol owed Vail, Dixon, Mann, and Turino as they met up with an individual who identified himself as DEA Special Agent Mark Clar. The agent ushered them away from the helipad, briskly walking past a hand-laid rock retaining wal and down a tan gravel path.

After passing the spa building on the right, Vail looked ahead—and al around them in a semicircle, for that matter—and took in the splendor of the Spanish tiled six-story resort, highlighted by strategic and dramatic lighting.

To her left, a security booth was manned by a heavyset guard dressed in a lime green shirt and black pants. He nodded as they passed, then spoke into his handheld radio.

The group ran up the two flights of stairs and entered the hotel. They fol owed Clar to a generous central hal way with a black and gold lighted sign suspended from the ceiling that directed guests to their desired conference room. They passed El Viento, La Cascada, and La Sirena, then stopped beside a room with a wood-framed sign that read “La Luna.” Below the name, an embedded LCD screen displayed images of the room and of the Green Val ey Ranch property.

Clar pul ed open the right wooden door and motioned them inside.

“Not bad,” Dixon said. “Nice job, Clar.”

“They take good care of us. Fortunately we don’t need to impose too often. But when we do,” he let the door close behind him and shrugged, “we get amenities like this.”

In the center of the room—which shared the design scheme of the corridors—

sat a large rectangular table, a red tablecloth spread across it, with gold ruffled sides that stopped just above the carpet. Burgundy chairs stood lined up alongside, and overturned crystal glasses rested in front of each seat, accompanied by notepads and pens.

Suspended above the table was a candelabra with two dozen lamp-shaded bulbs.

Against the far wal of the square room was a retractable ceiling-mounted projection screen. A white board on a wood stand rested off to the side. Various pieces of AV equipment sat nearby, at the ready, like a standing army.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Vail said. “Can we get started?”

“The ASAC of the DEA Vegas district office is due any minute,” Clar said.

“ASACs Yardley and Gifford are en route, as wel . I can touch on a few things, but I’d rather wait for—”

Before he could finish his thought, the doors swung open and in walked a dark-suited woman and man.

The woman’s eyes raked the room, taking in each member of the task force. “I’m Deborah Ruth, Assistant Special Agent-in-Charge, Vegas district office. I take it you’ve already met Special Agent Clar,” she said with a flick of her head toward the man. “Which one of you is Agent Turino?”

“That’d be me.” Turino made introductions to the other individuals. They exchanged nods and stares and half waves.

“Okay,” Ruth said. “I have information for you—for al of you. While you were en route, Agent Sebastiani de Medina received a phone cal . Sebastiani—” The door swung open again and in walked Sebastian, fol owed by Thomas Gifford and Peter Yardley. Ruth pursed her lips. “Excel ent timing.” She made sure Gifford, Yardley, and Sebastian were acquainted with the others.

Sebastian looked healthier and stronger than the last time Vail had seen him.

From his demeanor, he seemed ful y recovered from his ordeal.

“If I may,” Sebastian said to Ruth. He received a nod of approval and said,

“About an hour ago, I got a cal from a man identifying himself as Sandiego Ortega.

Ortega is a lieutenant in the Vil arreal cartel. He was talking quickly, said he only had a minute before his partner returned.” Sebastian turned to Vail. “He tried cal ing you, but it went to voice mail.”

Vail’s hand went to her BlackBerry. “I was in the air.” She pul ed the phone and saw the missed cal .
Shit.
But she realized she now had the man’s phone number, so al was not lost.

“Gist was that he had Robby, and that he was safe. He wanted to broker a deal for his return.”

“A deal?” Turino asked. “Cartels don’t make deals for—”

“He wants witness protection. Says he has valuable information for us on Vil arreal and Cortez. If we agree to WITSEC, he’l give us what he’s got and testify against his boss. And he’l guarantee Robby’s safe return.”

“Why the hel would he do that?” Dixon asked. “He’s gotta know it’s a death sentence.”

“I asked the same question,” Sebastian said. “He said he’s found God and he’s no longer able to live the life. They’d kil him anyway if they discovered he wanted out. He also happens to be a childhood friend of Robby’s. He was the one who convinced Vil arreal to break him free.”

“So Vil arreal’s behind this?”

“Apparently, from what I was able to get from Ortega, Vil arreal was concerned about the blowback from Cortez kil ing a federal agent. Ortega sold him on the idea of grabbing up Robby, then exchanging him for the DEA giving him some passes.”

Dixon spread her arms. “So we don’t need Ortega. Vil arreal wil ensure Hernandez’s safety.”

“If he can be trusted,” Sebastian said. “Ortega had his doubts. He said that since no one knew they’d broken out Robby, Cortez would be blamed for his death no matter what happens. And no matter who kil s him. Could be that’s Vil arreal’s play: kil Robby, blame it on Cortez. Serious heat comes down on Cortez. When the dust settles and Cortez is arrested, his organization weakened, Vil arreal steps in and takes his territory.”

“So we’re back to having to trust Ortega,” Mann said.

“Is this true?” DeSantos asked. “Ortega is a buddy of Robby’s?”

“I’ve never heard him mention a Sandiego Ortega,” Vail said. “You?”

Sebastian shook his head.

“How do we know we can trust this guy?” Mann asked.

Yardley stepped forward. “We don’t. But he’s left open his cel signal to let us track him. They’re headed here, to Vegas.”

“Where in Vegas?”

“Ortega didn’t have time to say. But we got an address for Vil arreal’s place. And we’ve been monitoring Ortega’s cal , listening in on the conversation.”

“Did you hear Robby?” Vail asked.

Gifford cleared his throat. “No. When we stopped listening a few minutes ago, it’d just been a bunch of nonsense bul shit between two guys on the road.

Occasional y they’d mention an awareness of Highway Patrol, keeping to the speed limit, that sort of thing. There’s also some muffled talk, but we couldn’t make it out. The lab’s working on it, but I don’t know when, or if, they’l have anything for us.”

“Of course,” Yardley said, “before we get our hopes up, it’s important to point out we’ve got no idea how long Ortega’s battery wil last. Right now, until we find we can trust Vil arreal, that cel ’s our lifeline to Hernandez. If we lose it, he’l be on his own unless we can find—” He stopped and looked down at his phone, then pul ed a pair of smal reading glasses from his suit pocket. “Excuse me a minute.”

Ruth, standing beside Yardley, glanced at her col eague, then picked up the discussion. “Agent Clar’s a man of many talents. In addition to his fieldwork, he’s got a Ph.D. in digital signal processing and did some terrific work redesigning our wire room capabilities. I’ve asked him to have certain things ready for us.” Ruth nodded at Clar. “Are they?”

Clar, who’d been leaning a shoulder against the wal near the AV control panel, straightened up. “Yes ma’am, ready to go.” He walked to the wal beside the entry doors and fingered a touchpad LCD. The lights dimmed to half strength and a projector splashed light onto the screen.

“Hang on a minute,” Yardley said, his reading glasses perched low on his nose.

The glow of his phone reflected off the lenses. “Just got a text from my office.

Sandiego Ortega is an American citizen—actual y, he’s got dual citizenship. Born and raised in Los Angeles. Mexican citizenship granted in ’95. No record while in the U.S.”

“Robby grew up in LA,” Vail said.

Gifford nodded. “So there’s potential validity in Ortega’s claim. Where in LA did Ortega live?”

Yardley scrol ed down the screen on his phone. “Ful erton.”

Gifford nodded. “That’s where R—Officer Hernandez—lived.”

Yardley slipped his phone into a pocket, then motioned to Clar. “Continue.”

“Right. This is what we’ve got.” Clar struck a button on his laptop and an aerial image of the Las Vegas strip appeared. He pul ed a laser pointer and a bril iant green pinpoint light circled a specific area, in tandem with the agent’s hand movements. “The cel signal we’ve been tracking entered Vegas twenty minutes ago. They were driving here, in a seemingly random pattern, as if taking evasive maneuvers to make sure they weren’t being fol owed. Then they went stationary at a point just off South Las Vegas Boulevard, in an area that appears to be a parking garage. Right here.” The green light stopped moving. “The signal keeps cutting in and out, probably because of the steel and concrete in the structure. But it hasn’t moved in about five minutes.”

Vail was starting to perspire, and realized she probably looked ridiculous wearing Robby’s jacket. She pul ed it off and said, “They may be waiting for something. Is that garage anywhere near Vil arreal’s place?”

“Yes,” Ruth said. “So here’s the plan. The task force wil go airborne and assist the search. There’s a helicopter tour business at the airport, right off the strip.

They do evening tours of the casinos, so you won’t raise any red flags. You don’t have any identifying markers on that Huey, correct?”

Turino, sitting at the end of the table, a symbolic banishment from the rest of the task force, said, “It’s Marine green. Nothing that says DEA. Against the black sky, we’l be fine.”

Vail had doubts about the “we’l ” in Turino’s comment, but she let it pass.

“Very good. From there,” Ruth said, “it depends where Hernandez is, where the cartel members are. We can’t formulate a viable tactical plan until we’re sure of where they’re going to be when we move in. We’ve got a SWAT unit on standby, deployed one mile out. I don’t want any cartel spotters catching a glimpse of our rigs hanging around the strip. Even if we move in with their bread truck plastered with fake magnetic plumbing or electrical signs on the side, there’s a chance they’l be made. I don’t wanna blow this before we have a chance to get close to Hernandez.”

“We’ve got no valid intel whether or not Vil arreal truly intends to hand over Hernandez,” Gifford said. “So we’re treating this as a hostile hostage situation until or unless we find convincing proof otherwise.”

“You’l coordinate with SWAT,” Ruth continued. “When you’ve gotten eyes on the layout of the area and have an estimate of how many there are and where they’re holed up, take up your positions and turn the show over to SWAT. Set down on that helicopter tour business’s landing pad and stay out of the way until the area is secured and Hernandez is safely in custody. Let’s do this right.”

Vail tried not to squirm in her seat.
She expects me to sit on the sidelines while
they go after Robby? Is this woman serious?

Clar stepped up to the white board. He pul ed a cap off the red marker and wrote in abbreviated strokes as he spoke: “First objective. Locate and secure Roberto Hernandez. Second. Identify, locate, and take down members of the Cortez cartel.

Now, for those of you who aren’t familiar with Vegas, the strip is almost always densely packed with tourists. If we pul our side arms and start blasting away, it’l be near impossible to avoid striking innocents. So third objective. Minimize col ateral damage.”

“The order of objectives,” Ruth said, “depends on logic, not priority. Clearly it’s of paramount importance to rescue our man. SWAT has been briefed on Velocity, so they understand our chal enges. But I want there to be no confusion: given a choice of securing Hernandez or preserving the success of Velocity, we save the life.”

Vail, Dixon, and DeSantos shared a look. They then turned to Turino in unison, who looked away. Vail’s gaze was particularly harsh.

“It’s our assessment,” Clar said, “that Velocity wil not be adversely affected by this op. Cortez knows we’d be looking for Hernandez, so any action we initiate wil be seen in that light.”

Exactly
. Vail kept an unforgiving gaze on Turino until he turned back in her direction. After a long second of silent anger between them, he looked away.